


Better Latte Than Never

by SophiaCatherine



Series: One More Cup of Coffee (Before I Go) [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (but the sfw kind), Fluff, Identity Porn, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25037338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine
Summary: A mixed-up coffee order leads to a chance encounter that, it turns out, is worth being late for.(The fluffy meet cute mentioned in 'Can't Take That Away From Me'.)
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Series: One More Cup of Coffee (Before I Go) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813276
Comments: 48
Kudos: 226





	Better Latte Than Never

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueelvewithwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueelvewithwings/gifts).



> Here's hoping the nothing-hurts fluff here makes up for the angst in the next part of this series! Can be read as a stand-alone even if you don't know the fic that follows. 
> 
> Set in an AU where the Flash and Captain Cold never learned each other's identities, and have been doing the nemesis thing for a few years now.

It’s not even nine in the morning, and Barry’s day is already a disaster. A restless night left him sleeping through his alarm, and now there’s nothing he wants more in the world than coffee. But, of course, he’s late for work again. So he really should have expected the line at CC Jitters, so long it’s practically snaking out the door. 

Reassuring himself that he can make up the time by speeding into work through a side entrance, Barry slides in line just behind a guy in a leather jacket, and takes a calming breath to slow himself down to non-meta speeds. Then there’s nothing to do but stand there and wait— _ugh, waiting_ —and fidget with his shirt sleeves. It’s too late in the year for this sweltering heat, but the Missouri weather never did get the memo about the changing seasons. It’s loud in the cafe, too, the crowds and the heat fusing into a miserable background hum as Barry stares at the second hand on his watch. Sighing, he slumps sideways against a pillar. 

His sigh must come out louder than he intends. Leather jacket guy in front turns around.

 _Oh no._

He has the most gorgeous ice-blue eyes Barry has ever seen. They’re beautifully offset by a frame of cropped salt-and-pepper hair above a sharp jaw. A thoughtful mouth completes the perfect picture, curling up into the hint of a smile. 

It’s not fair. No one is allowed to be that cute. Barry’s really trying not to stare, but he knows he’s failed when the guy tilts his head, smiles—God, that _smile_ —and says “Hi.”

Barry didn’t know until this moment that a Central City accent could be sexy.

“Uh... hi.” He feels his hand come up to the back of his neck and looks quickly away, heat already rising in his face.

He can sense the guy’s amused eyes lingering on him for a moment more. He’s just starting to panic about whether he should say something else when the line moves forward and the guy turns back to the register. “One Captain Cold with three sugars and extra whip, please,” he says.

That breaks the spell. If it wasn’t ridiculous enough that this suave, mysterious stranger’s drink is an iced mochaccino with mountains of sugar and cream, he actually calls it by _that_ supervillain name. Barry doesn’t even know why Jitters named a drink after the Rogue. He had a bit of an argument with a barista about it once, pointing out that it wasn’t very responsible of them to list a menu item celebrating the notorious thief, but she just laughed. “He’s way cooler than the Flash,” she said, which wasn’t funny.

The guy moves on from the register, making space. As Barry checks his watch again, he recites his daily script without needing to think. “The usual, please, Lucy. Thanks.” He’s really late now. Bouncing from one foot to the other, he tries not to fret about how Singh is going to have his head. Then the line moves again, and Barry shuffles absently down to the counter to collect his drink.

“Barry,” Elias calls out in his low rumble, and Barry smiles at him as he accepts his—

“Oh,” he says, and waves him back. “Sorry, Elias, but this isn’t mine.”

Elias frowns at the drink. Then he looks back up at him. “Says Barry on the side.” He helpfully points the side of the plastic cup towards Barry, showing him his own name in neat Sharpie cursive.

“I can see that,” Barry says as patiently as he can manage when he’s eleven minutes late, because this is the fault of neither Elias nor Lucy, who are not getting paid enough for Barry’s shit. “But this is a Cap— an iced mochaccino with whipped cream. I ordered the Flash with an extra shot.”

“My bad.” Lucy’s voice carries across from the main counter. “Must have wrote your name on the wrong cup. Drink’s on me, Barry.”

Barry shakes his head firmly. That would come out of Lucy’s wages, which would be horribly unfair. “No, that’s okay, Lucy. You could…” He checks his watch again. He does _not_ have time for her to make him another Flash. 

As if reading his mind, she says, “Why don’t you just do a swap back? I think I gave your Flash to Lenny.” Raising her voice, she yells, “Hey, Lenny! Did you get Barry’s drink?”

Barry can’t decide if his luck is just this good, or just this bad. He lifts his gaze from not-his drink, till it lands, _of course,_ on the guy from the line. Who is now leaning against the counter, arms folded across his leather jacket, wearing a smirk that looks just as good on him as everything else. Evidently he’s been standing there waiting for Barry to figure out the mistake. “Hello—Barry, is it?” 

Great. Now Barry has to _talk to him._ The burning in his face is back, along with the dry mouth that he swallows his way through. Barry has been a stuttering, awkward mess around enough cute guys and girls that he knows exactly how this is about to go. For a moment he thinks about skipping the whole thing and walking away without his coffee.

But with every second longer that he’s faced with that smirk, Barry’s nerves are eking away. It looks like it’s designed to get a rise out of Barry. So he rises to it. _“Lenny,_ I assume? Can I have my coffee back?” He peers at the plastic cup in his hand, and aims a raised eyebrow at leather jacket guy. “I ended up with this monstrosity by mistake.” He holds out the iced drink. 

Accepting it, the guy says, “Len.” His eyes flicker back to the counter with a look of amused disdain. Barry wonders if he ever _doesn’t_ look amused. “Came here once with my sister. They’ve never let me forget that they overheard her nickname for me.” He turns an icepick-sharp gaze back on Barry, pushing the paper cup towards him. “One Flash with an extra shot, _Barry.”_

As Barry reaches out to grab his own drink, his hand brushes against Len’s. 

Barry has heard a lot of myths in his time, but scientific principles are what matter to him. Sure, for a long time he chased the impossible, but only so he could dissect it down to physics and chemistry, evidence that would be admissible in court. He’s never believed in the fairytales of an electric touch between two people who share an attraction. But there it is, as real as the lightning that sparks when he runs, and just as visceral.

Is Barry imagining that Len’s smirk softens, just a little? He inclines his head at Barry’s drink. “So, you’re a dark roast guy, huh? _Smooth.”_

Barry tries not to smile at the pun, and fails. Now that he hears a little more of it, Len’s Central City drawl isn’t very pronounced. It’s almost like the guy is pulling back on it a bit. “I am,” Barry confirms. “And you’re a fan of poorly-named iced drinks with so much sugar they’re _barely_ coffee. No wonder the baristas got us mixed up.”

“Poorly-named,” Len repeats incredulously.

As they both scuttle left to make room for the next wave of customers, Barry has to bite a lip to keep from smiling. He’s not sure why the guy likes the absurd drink with the sillier name, but this is a lot more fun than the last twenty times he tried to flirt. “Well, I mean, come on. Who’d name a drink after _Captain Cold?_ He’s not even a _good_ villain.” 

That prompts a startled eyebrow raise from Len, which is a little odd. Barry doesn’t know the guy, but Len doesn’t immediately seem like one of those misguided fans of the Rogues that are everywhere in Central City these days, trailing after them for their autographs, wearing parkas and goggles, dragging around cosplay cold guns. But then, there’s no accounting for people’s weird hyperfixations, even with truly stunning guys like Len.

Oh, right, he was talking to Len. Who seems to have recovered quickly. “Right,” Len says, drawing out the sound. His eyes flicker to the left above a cryptic little smile. “But the Flash deserves a coffee named after him because of, what, his valiant good-hearted heroics? Please.”

Barry should be offended, but he can’t help grinning. Questionable opinions aside, Len is too charming not to like. “What, you don’t like heroes, is that it? Is he too sincere for you?”

Len looks back at him, studying Barry like he’s a puzzle—or a challenge. His smile is turning indulgent. “Something like that. But I don’t want to talk about heroes and villains. I’d much rather talk about _you.”_

That’s almost funny, but explaining the joke probably wouldn’t be a good idea. In his head, Cisco’s voice says, _Secret identities exist for a reason, Barry._ He’s inclined to agree. Still, taking Len up on his suggestion couldn’t hurt, even if this conversation is the preamble to asking him out that Barry’s starting to think it is. Len seems sweet, and it’s been ages since Barry’s had a date. The superhero life can be a lonely adventure. _I can date and have a secret identity, Cisco,_ he snaps back at the insistent voice in his head. 

God, the way Len’s looking at him. That captivated twinkle in those beautiful eyes is what makes up Barry’s mind. Pulling a hand absently through his hair, he replies, “That, uh— That sounds nice.”

Len isn’t smirking anymore. His smile is sincere, delighted, as his eyes drift towards an empty table in the corner. “I’d really like to get to know you better, Barry. Whaddya say we enjoy these coffees in a more _comfortable_ spot?” 

Somehow, he manages to make that sound both sweet and just a touch suggestive. Barry just hopes he’s not blushing again. Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he says, “I’d like that, but I’m going to be late for—oh _crap._ I’m meant to be at work at eight-thirty.”

Reaching out to take Barry’s wrist in his hand, Len turns it so he can look at Barry’s watch. “That was half an hour ago,” he says, releasing Barry’s arm.

Len’s touch freezes Barry to the spot, shocking his brain into a stupor. As Len pulls his hand reluctantly away, Barry spies Len’s own huge watch face peeking out from under his jacket, and he wonders if that was all an excuse to touch Barry. Not that he minds. Not while Len’s still looking at him like that. “Uh, so… I should go.”

“You probably should,” Len agrees, the edges of his mouth pulling up into something that can’t decide yet if it’s going to be a smile or a smirk. “I’m sure they’re fastidious about timekeeping at— Where do you work?”

“CCPD,” Barry replies, glancing down at his watch again. With so many years’ experience of arriving late to everything from work to his own birthday parties, he’s learned that there’s a point at which you’re already so late, extra minutes don’t really matter. If Singh’s going to chew him out, Barry might as well give the captain something to yell at him for. “I’m a CSI,” he finishes, mostly to fill the silence, since Len hasn’t replied yet.

The quiet goes on a moment longer. Barry looks up. Len’s smile has fallen away, and he’s studying Barry. “That right?” he asks carefully.

It’s not like Barry’s never seen that reaction before. People have all kinds of reasons for disliking the police, some of them very good reasons. But for a moment there, Barry thought Len looked genuinely afraid.

He seems to get over it quickly enough, though, lounging back against the counter with another wicked smirk. “Well then, Barry. You could leave, and be half an hour late to work. Or you could stay with me and play hooky from _CCPD.”_

The idea seems to delight Len, and Barry can’t help mirroring his charming grin. For a moment, he’s so tempted. When does he ever get to blow off his responsibilities— _so many_ responsibilities—and just kick back for a day with a cute guy? And then Captain Singh’s thundercloud face flickers through Barry’s mind, and he sighs. “I’d love to,” he murmurs back, in the same conspiratorial tone as Len’s, “but I really can’t. I’d have to start calling in sick, and _lying,_ and…”

“And we can’t have that,” Len finishes, with a wry head tilt. He seems almost ready to start teasing Barry. But he just gives him another of those indulgent smiles, as if he finds his conscientious attitude _cute._ It should be irritating, but it’s not. Everything about Len is beguiling. 

“Sorry,” Barry says, wondering why he can’t stop smiling.

Len’s smile back is crooked—and so adorable. “Gonna let you in on a secret, Barry. I’ve been standing here trying to figure out a reason to ask to see your phone. But I’m gonna skip all that, and just be honest.” He folds his arms across his chest, eyes sparkling. Barry gets the sense that he’s performing to some invisible audience now. “I’d like to get to know you when you’re not trying to rush away. Would you consider giving me your number?” He holds out his phone.

Barry knew that’s exactly where Len was going with this, but his mouth suddenly goes dry anyway. He can feel his speedster-quick pulse fluttering in his neck, unsteady and excited. 

Len raises an eyebrow. 

Right. He’s going to want an answer. “Yes,” Barry manages. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Len tilts his head, as he seems to do a lot. “Number in phone, Barry.”

“Yes! Right. Phone.” He fumbles for the phone Len is holding out, and it very nearly slips out of his grasp. He types in the number and hands it back, trying not to beam like a complete fool. “You’ll call?”

As he accepts the phone back, Len is clearly trying not to laugh. “You’re adorable, Barry. You know that?”

Barry scratches away his embarrassment again, hand across the back of his neck. God, why is he always a complete disaster at this? “Uh, yeah.” He laughs. “So I hear.” 

“Well, I’d better let you get back to…” Len nods at the door.

“Right! Work, yeah.” Barry grabs his satchel off the floor, where he dropped it at some point during the conversation, and shrugs it across his shoulder. He flashes a smile at Len, hoping it’s a playful one. “It was nice meeting you… _Lenny.”_

Len grimaces, and Barry feels his smile get wider. And then he’s off, running towards the station, chuckling to himself about the name he’s definitely using for Len in his phone, when he calls. 

If he calls. 

_Oh no…_

How much of a fool did Barry make of himself? Sure, Len asked for Barry’s number, but what if he thinks it over and decides Barry’s too much of a ditzy knucklehead? What if...?

Just as Barry slips out of Flashtime, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Coffee sometime? - Len_

Well, now he’s grinning like a ditzy knucklehead, at least. 

_Sure. Name the time._

As the doors to the CCPD elevator open with a _bing,_ Barry saves the number in his phone under ‘Lenny.’ He has all of thirty seconds to chuckle about that, before the doors open and Barry comes face to thundercloud face with Captain Singh.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Allen,” he says. “I do hope whatever you were doing was worth being forty minutes late for.”

Barry just about manages not to smile. At least, not until he’s apologized as lavishly as he can, putting on a fairly convincing show of wretched guilt, and Singh has left with a sigh and an eyeroll. But as he climbs the stairs and pulls out his phone to check the text from Len one more time, he indulges himself. “Oh yeah,” Barry whispers. “Totally worth it.”

* * *

“You’re late,” is Lisa’s yelled-out greeting, as Len opens the door of the safe house. “Mick went to stake out the bank without you.”

“He’ll live,” Len says, walking through to the main room. He pauses to look at Lisa, glaring at him, and decides to throw her a bone. “And I would have been later, only the guy was too busy to have coffee with me.”

She sits down on the edge of the big dining room table that is currently serving as their only furniture, and rises to the bait. “A _guy,_ Lenny? Do tell all.”

His sister always did like to prod him for future blackmail material, and right now Len’s too excited to put her off the scent. He shrugs and hops up onto the table beside her. “He’s cute.”

This time the prodding is literal, a familiar finger jabbing into his side. “Cute? That’s all I get?”

“Till I get to know him a bit more, that’s all I got.” He hikes one leg over the other, but it doesn’t stop his jittery foot from bouncing up and down. Nerves or excitement, he doesn’t know. He huffs a laugh, remembering one detail she’ll either love or hate. “He works for CCPD.”

“He’s a cop?” she asks, flat and unimpressed.

Len shakes his head firmly. “CSI.”

“So, a cop,” she confirms, while he rolls his eyes. “That’ll go well.”

A patch of azure sky outside the window catches his eye, and he turns his head to enjoy it. “Oh, I think it could go just fine,” he muses, to no one in particular. He turns back to find her staring at him. “What?” 

She’s giving him a fond, slightly quizzical look. “Nothing.”

“Good.” He stretches his arms over his head. “I could use a coffee.”

Lisa’s unimpressed blink is exactly what he expects. “Didn’t you just come from CC Jitters?”

“Yeah, and I ordered a _Captain Cold._ Do you know how crappy those are?”

She scoffs. Apparently that wasn’t funny, so he ups the ante. “Who thought naming a drink after me was a good idea, anyway? Might as well put my _mug_ shot on it.” 

She taps her hand against her leg, glaring harder at him.

Dammit—she still won’t react. He’s determined, now. “I mean, impressionable kids go into CC Jitters. And I’ve _bean_ a bad influence.” That just deepens the considerable frown lines across her face, her eyebrows getting lower and lower. “And if you believe the drink, I’m all froth and no substance. Just makes me feel… _bitter.”_

That has her wincing in pain and getting up. 

“Hey, looks like you’re making me that coffee after all. Guess the ends justify the beans,” he calls after her, as she throws up a dismissive hand behind her. “Better latte than never!” he yells out in a final moment of triumph, cursing himself for not having thought of that one earlier. Barry might have loved it. But hey, maybe Len can slide it into the conversation on their date tomorrow. 

Beyond the window, that steadily widening patch of blue sky catches his eye again. Len gazes out, thinking about Barry. It’s been a long time since he felt like this after meeting someone. His life recently has been nothing but heist after heist, the rewards decreasing as the take goes up, especially now that the Rogues are pretty evenly matched with that damn Flash. It’s been a long time since _anything’s_ made him feel this good. 

It was starting to threaten a storm earlier, but now it looks like it’s going to be a perfect day after all. 

He pulls out his phone and writes the latte pun down, just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> For blueelvewithwings, to thank her for beta reading the WIP that comes next in this series. With thanks to RetroactiveCon for stepping in and being a great substitute beta reader.


End file.
